Page 34 of Ebbing Tides
Her arms reached, wrapped around my neck in a tight embrace, and I held her, simultaneously terrified and confident as my body acted only on impulse, tipping my head and opening my mouth, begging with my tongue for permission to taste hers.
She was reluctant when just a moment before, she’d seemed so sure, so certain. I opened my eyes to find she wasn't looking back, her brow pinched and her lids closed. I lifted a hand from the small of her back to brush a strand of hair away from her forehead.
“Hey,” I whispered, my lips brushing against hers as they moved. “I'm sorry.”
I watched her face. Watched as her forehead furrowed and her lips moved just the slightest bit from mine.
“Don't tell me you're sorry,” she replied quietly, the lines on her forehead smoothing with a forlorn sigh.
“Okay,” I said, bringing my palm to cup her cheek, stroking my thumb along her cheekbone.
She leaned against my touch, sighing again, the sound passing through her lips with a whimper. Sounding like this moment was nothing short of agony. My mind tripped over itself, struggling to come to terms with this reality, that I was touching her and not dreaming, as I had so many times before. This was her skin, her face, her lips I'd just kissed, and if I could never kiss them again, I thought that maybe I could be okay with that, after just having the opportunity. Suddenly, all I wanted was what she wanted. To make her happy. To be her servant inthis life and any other I could be so lucky to meet her in. Because it washer. The woman I'd dreamed of.
“Melanie,” I said, savoring her name as it rolled over my tongue. “Tell me what you want. What do you need?”
She opened her eyes then, and with painstaking hesitation, she slowly sought mine. I'd been afraid to know what I'd find there, scared to see repulsion and fear, but, oh, I was so far from the truth.
“Tell me you want me,” she whispered, her voice quivering, her hands shaking against my shoulders. Her tearful eyes dropping to my lips. “Please. Make this easier for me.”
I swallowed, my throat dry, my veins thrumming with need. “Oh God, you have no idea how bad I want you.”
She nodded, a tear spilling over. “Tell me you wanted me then. Tell me you—”
“I wanted you then,” I answered, clasping her face in both hands and guiding her eyes back to mine. “I wanted you more than I'd ever wanted another woman in my life, and I never stopped wanting you. Ever. Time had no effect on how badly I wanted you. Decades, distance … it didn't matter. It didn't stop.”
She shook in my grasp as another tear fell from her eye, and so subtly, she nodded. “I never stopped either.”
I thrust my lips against hers once again as one hand left her face to slam the door shut, locking us away from the cold air and the voyeuristic ghosts lingering in the quiet, outside world. This time, the swipe of my tongue across her lips wasn't as hesitant, and she reacted with a gentle sob but little resistance as her lips parted, silently inviting me in.
I racked my brain, trying to remember the last time I had made out with a woman, knowing it would've been Laura. Laura, Laura …
I shouldn't be thinking about her now, as my head tipped in time with Melanie's to deepen this kiss I'd dreamed of having since I had been a much younger man. I shouldn't sully Laura’s memory in this way, in this moment that suddenly felt an awful lot like infidelity.
I'm so sorry, I sent off toward the sky, yet I didn't stop—couldn’t if I wanted to, as I lost all semblance of free will.
Melanie took the lead—a welcome surprise—and steered us toward the countertop directly behind me. I bumped into it; coffee cups clattered against each other, and the prehistoric coffee maker rattled. Melanie's hands left my shoulders to lie flat against my cheeks. She pressed her body flush against mine, her breath coming in heavy gusts. Wanting, needing more, I took the reins and spun her around, pressing her to the countertop and reaching around to shove a mess of discarded coffee packets and stirrers aside and onto the floor.
Breathless, Melanie wrenched her mouth from mine and began to say, “What are you—”
But her words were cut short with a yelp of surprise when I lifted her onto the counter. Her thighs opened of their own accord, and I stepped between them, noting how good, how comfortable, howrightit was to be there within her warmth.
I took her face once again between my palms.
“Is this okay?” I asked, grazing the tip of my nose along hers.
She nodded erratically, her eyelids drifting shut. “Yes.”
I answered with a gruff sound, barely a response at all, and I kissed her, hard and deep, until every part of my body hummed with an insatiable, undeniable need for more. I wanted to touch every part of her. Wanted to memorize every slope, every curve with the tips of my fingers. I wanted to know her, wanted to etch every whimpered gasp from her lips into my brain until I could hear them in the countless dreams to invade my sleep for the foreseeable future. I throbbed with a heavy ache for it, and with a groan, I rested my forehead against hers to catch my breath and regain the control that was rapidly slipping through my trembling fingers.
“What's wrong?” Melanie asked, touching my face, neck, chest with her traveling fingers.
I tried to swallow the ever-growing lump in my throat, and then I chuckled.
Melanie answered with a throaty laugh of her own and asked again, “What?”
“I said I wanted you,” I replied.
“And?”
